“Right.” He stood, walked into the conference room, and returned with a pad of Cobra stationery. He wrote down his phone number, held onto it for a moment as if hesitating, then handed it to her. “Here’s mine.”
She took it, his effort warming her. She knew none of this was easy for him. He’d looked more afraid sharing his feelings with her in the hotel room earlier than he had when they’d dragged him off to torture him. “Thanks, Dylan. This means a lot to me.”
“Buckle up,” Tower called to them. “We’re about to take off.”
The plane taxied onto the runway, gained speed, and took to the skies.
Gabriela watched out the window as Curaçao became a small island in the middle of a vast turquoise sea, Venezuela in the far distance.
“Hey, are you okay?” Dylan asked.
“I can’t believe I’m going home. It’s been so long.”
Then Tower sat down across from them—a deliberate choice since there was a lot of room and many empty seats. A tall man, he was lean and hard with a tanned face and blond hair, every inch of him the military man.
“You gave me the basics last night over the phone, but I’ve got a lot of questions that need answers, and some of these questions are for you, Ms. Marquez.” He paused as if waiting for their consent, but what choice did they have? “How did you know the Agency asset was going to betray you?”
They went through it all from that point—Gabriela noticing the physical changes in Sander, Sander admitting that he’d been trying to get paid double.
“I had no choice but to eliminate him,” Dylan said.
Gabriela knew that weighed on him. They hadn’t talked about it, but she knew it just the same. It weighed on her, too, since he’d done it to protect her.
“It was necessary for the success of the mission and your survival.” Next, Tower asked about their thwarted attempt to cross the border and getting caught by Ruiz and his men. “They believed you were a nun?”
Dylan grinned. “She can be very convincing.”
Tower shot Dylan a quelling look.
Gabriela fought back a smile. “Yes, sir, they did, though I know Ruiz suspected me of knowing something about the drug shipments at the Mission.”
Tower nodded. “It was you, Ms. Marquez, who killed Ruiz.”
“Yes. I knew that if I didn’t act before Sánchez arrived with the reporters, we would fail at our most critical mission objective. I also knew they would keep torturing Dylan until he talked—and then they would kill both of us.”
“You’re certain he’s dead.”
“I can confirm that.” Dylan described what he’d seen.
All at once, the horror of it hit Gabriela, made the blood rush from her head, leaving her dizzy.
Gunshots. Bodies strewn across the floor. So much blood.
She blinked, found the men watching her. “Sorry. I … I just…”
“You don’t owe anyone an apology.” Tower’s gaze softened. “What you did—I couldn’t have asked for more from one of our operatives.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dylan threaded his fingers through hers and picked up the story from there, his touch reassuring. He told Tower how he’d let Imelda go and then blown up the house.
“I didn’t have the heart to kill her, and I take full responsibility for that.”
“Understood.” Tower looked at his notepad. “Then you stole one of Ruiz’s vehicles, drove back to the Aveo, and then on to Maracaibo and finally to Coro, where you hired Paulito to bring you to Curaçao.”
Dylan answered. “Yes, sir. We stayed in Maracaibo for one night, so I could take care of Gabriela’s graze wound and we could get some sleep.”
Tower grinned. “You’ve made Jones happy—and a little richer. The guys placed bets on how you’d get Ms. Marquez out of Venezuela. Jones said you’d go SEAL on them and head for the water. I think he won five hundred bucks out of it.”